


The Music of Mirkwood

by WizardOfWords



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Abandoned Bilbo, Abandonment, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Legolas Greenleaf, BAMF Thranduil, Elf Culture & Customs, Elvish, Fairies, Family Secrets, Fate & Destiny, Hurt Bilbo Baggins, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Legends, Legolas Greenleaf & Tauriel Friendship, M/M, Mirkwood, Multi, Non-Canon Lore, On the Run, Overprotective Thranduil, Protective Legolas Greenleaf, Short Chapters, Sindarin, Slow Burn, Talking Trees, The Valar, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, Timeline What Timeline, White Gems of Lasgalen, Wilderness Survival, myths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23408242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardOfWords/pseuds/WizardOfWords
Summary: Every race has its own version of history, its own battles won and lost, and its own myths and legends...The Woodland Elves were no exception to that, though they lived in their ancient forest, shut away from the other kingdoms.Elflings would run through the forest, searching for the Faëries they were sure were hidden there. After all, Faëries were the rarest of creatures and were renowned for bringing light into the darkness and hope into desolation. They were gifts from the Valar to those who were lucky enough to find them.Neither Thranduil nor Legolas was an elfling any longer. They should have stopped looking for Faëries in the woods millennium ago. But in their hearts, they never stopped looking for them. They are sure it wasn't a trick of the light. Sure that Varda has gifted them a Faërie. No one will stop them from pursuing the little thing...not even the Faërie, Bilbo, himself...
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Legolas Greenleaf, Bilbo Baggins/Thranduil, Bilbo Baggins/Thranduil/Legolas Greenleaf, Legolas Greenleaf & Tauriel
Comments: 96
Kudos: 368





	1. The Stories We Were Told

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Legend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4231377) by [Rhohel_of_the_Shire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhohel_of_the_Shire/pseuds/Rhohel_of_the_Shire). 



Every race has its own version of history, its own battles won and lost, and its own myths and legends...

The hobbits were no exception to this, though their stories tended to revolve around creatures of the forest and spirits of the water rather than heroes and monsters. Hobbits were simple people who shied away from the big-folk and lives peaceably in their Shire, far away from the troubles the taller races always seemed to involve themselves in. 

All the Shirelings loved to hear the tales. Bilbo Baggins could still remember the nights he spent crowded around the elder hobbits beneath the party tree. All the grown-ups were always interested in eating and talking and dancing. Bilbo liked all of those things, too; but he liked the stories best. 

His favourite story was about Faëries. Faëries were creatures of the light, sent from Varda to cleanse Arda of darkness. They were rare creatures that could not be found simply by looking for them, Bilbo knew because he had tried. Faëries were special because they could choose when they could be seen and when they were invisible to the eye. 

As fascinating as the idea was to Bilbo, that wasn’t his favourite part of the story. His favourite part was that in the tales, it was said that long ago, a Faërie married a Took. And that’s the reason all the Took’s were mischievous and clever. Bilbo wasn’t sure _'clever'_ was the word he would use to describe his cousins, but his mother had been the cleverest of them all and she was a Took; so it must be true. 

“What did the Faërie purge from Arda?” he asked, like he did every time. He always hoped there would be a better answer. There never was.

“No one knows! Hobbits do not know of such things as the darkness.” The elder would explain. 

And every day after he heard the story he would take his lunch into the woods and hunt for mushrooms and berries as he listened very carefully for the stirring the grass beneath feet that could not be seen. 

Bilbo had no way of knowing that he needn’t have gone through so much trouble looking for a Faërie. For, the only Faërie that could be found on Arda could only have been seen by him if he’d only looked in the looking glass.

  
  



	2. The Forest Has Turned Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas wonders if there is any hope left for the Elves of Lasgalen, or if something like hope is only for children and Faëries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't forget to leave kudos if you are enjoying this!

An elf’s childhood could last a very long time. They had more time to play and learn and think than other race. But most importantly, they had more time to listen. There were many essential teachings as they developed. Of course, they were taught how they came into being and they were taught who and what the Valar were. 

This was common across the board. However, the Woodland Elves were a bit different. These Elves were not like the high elves of the west or of Lothlorien. They were wilder. More secluded. While the High Elves were attuned with high powers and the happenings around them, Woodland Elves were attuned with the earth itself. 

They were baser. They could feel the land on which they lived and the life in the water they drank. But as that land grew darker, so then did the Woodland Elves. And as they began to deteriorate, they held onto hope: hope that Varda, the Queen of Stars would gift them with a Faërie to bring balance back to the forest and impel the darkness back whence it came. There was no greater gift to the Woodland Elves than the light from the stars. That same light was carried within Faëries. 

Children grew up to tales told about their heroic deeds and their great love stories. They were thought to be rather small in stature and when you looked upon them, you could see the shine from within of starlight. 

Legolas had been enamoured with tales like these when he was a young elfling. He was an adult now, but he couldn’t help missing the days he and his friends would go off in search of Faëries hiding in the woods. He used to sit in the forest next to his father as still as he could be. They would listen to the sounds of the forest, hear the trees impart their wisdom, and thank the Valar for their grace. 

Or at least, that’s what Thranduil had been doing. Legolas was listening for Faëries. His ears would twitch gently as he tried to identify all the founds. Sometimes he would trick himself into thinking he’d heard small footsteps padding through the Greenwood. He would jump up, startling his father as he took off like an arrow in that direction. It was instances like that that lead Thranduil to connect with the forest alone instead of bringing his son along. 

The forest was different now. Where there used to be life, there was death. Sticky, poisonous sap coated the trees and would eat through the leather soles of their boots. Creatures of the darkness would attack them while they hunted and foraged. And the trees…they were so quiet now. They had stopped speaking to the Elves who dwelt among them. Almost like they were dead. 

Legolas missed their voices more than he could say. The forest was no place for elflings to run about any longer. Now it was a place warriors went to prove themselves and where pride went to fall. 

But there was more than that. There had been no children born of the Woodland Elves in too long. And not for lack of trying. It seemed this forest would no longer foster life. Even wild animals slowly began disappearing until they could only rely on what they could grow within the gates of Lasgalen. 

If only they had the White Gems of Lasgalen! Then their city would prosper and the forest might be cleansed from the starlight inside them. But alas, the dwarves of Erebor had tricked the elves and now the gems lay somewhere beneath the belly of a dragon, somewhere in a sea of gold. There was no hope for them now. No hope except for the fabled tales of creatures that none-alive seemed to remember in any form other than stories. 

His father sat upon the throne, face cold and remote as he listened to Legolas’ reports. He was draped in silver robes and wore a matching circlet about his brow that rested above his prominent eyebrows. 

“How many deaths this quarter?” he questioned, cooly. 

“Four, father.”

“That is four too many.”

Legolas had to agree. “How would you like me to proceed?”

“We close the gates entirely,” he responded. “We will wait out the storm. Our numbers are only going down. The more we send out, the more die. No one comes in and no one goes out.”

Legolas bowed and turned smartly to begin issuing orders. It seemed they would not be searching for Faëries anytime soon...

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've enjoyed the story so far, please leave a comment and let me know what you think! Subscribe and bookmark if you want to see more...


	3. These Arms Aren’t the Arms I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is abandoned. What will become of him now?

_He’s not like us._

Bilbo could still hear their whispers. 

_He’s not one of us._

_Where do you think Belladonna found him?_

His bare feet pounded against the ground and kicked up the dead leaves as he ran after their retreating forms.

_He’s one of them. He doesn’t belong here._

_Give the forest back its child or it will take our children from us._

Abandoned. Thrown away. 

_You’ll be fine. You are a child of the forest. A child of the light!_

Bilbo kept running. The Shire had hired Men from Bree to escort him to this place. To this dark forest filled with horrible things that watched you from the shadows. 

_This is your destiny._

“Please!” he called after them. “Please don’t leave me here alone!” he screamed, but he was unable to keep up with their horses. 

_Do not hate us for this._

He’d thought he’d had time! He’d thought they were just stopping for the night! But he’d woken to find them mounting their horses. He’s been groggy. This forest seemed to zap the life out of you. Voice filled with sleep, he’d asked if it was time to go. It had been time to go. But not for Bilbo. 

_This was meant to be._

“I want to go home!” he half sobbed, half screamed. 

He’d learned the hard way to be quiet after that. He didn’t know how long he wandered those woods. There didn’t seem to be a way out. Even if he walked in one straight line for days, he’d just be brought back to a place deep in the forest that he’d been before. 

Food was hard to find, but he’d found some autumn fruits to eat. Winter was coming, and he didn’t know how he would survive the freezing weather sure to greet him come the month of Winterfilth. 

At first, the forest had been as silent as death. Bilbo had thought that maybe he’d died without knowing it. Maybe the spiders had caught him that day after all since he couldn’t figure out how he escaped. That was when the trees started talking to him. 

_You are lost, little friend._

_What do you do here in the dark?_

_Have you come to save us?_

_We will save you if you will save us._

Bilbo hadn’t listened to them at first. He’d clutched his head and cried because he thought he was going insane. He didn’t start listening to them until the hunger came. 

_So hungry. So hungry. So hungry, so hungry, so hungry, so hungry…._ the chant continued until Bilbo couldn’t tell if it was him or the trees speaking to him in his mind. Perhaps it was both. 

_We will show you where you can drink clean water and eat good food._

_Come, little Faërie. We will show you the way._

_Come, little friend. We will keep you warm._

_Come, Sĭlme’Lēar. We will not abandon you._

The next time when Bilbo cried, it was with relief in the arms of an ancient tree with a sated stomach.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed this story and if you want to see me, bookmark and subscribe!


	4. This Place is Dark, but Now it’s Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The forest is dark, so dark, and it's intent on keeping Bilbo to itself...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I publish frequently! Sometimes multiple times a day. Please subscribe and bookmark~

Bilbo had always liked the rain. He liked hearing its gentle pitter-patter again the window panes. He liked the smell of burning applewood in the hearth and his father's old books and scrolls. He liked the warmth of being cuddled up with his mother or father in front of it. 

He did not like the rain now. 

It was cold and dribbling and miserable. The giant spiders would always crawl down from their nests because the webs were liable to be knocked down by the heavy torrents that slooshed down from the leaves above. There were no window panes for the rain to hit and no fire to smell. But worse than that, he hadn’t felt the touch of another warm, living being since the Men had abandoned him in the forest all those years ago. 

Not that they had been kind or soft with him by any means. They had kept him on a rope so he could not run off, or forced him to smell the scary handkerchiefs that had sleeping poison on them so he would be still and quiet as they passed through towns. If they touched him, it was to stop him from struggling or running off. 

Bilbo hated Men. 

But trees? Trees were kind. They would speak to you if you would only listen and they would tell you where the best food could be found. They could never abandon you, they reasoned, because they could not move. Bilbo found that comforting. 

He spoke to them often. So often, in fact, that soon, the other plants of the forest around him began to wake as well. The forest was a collective voice. Many individuals that spoke as one. The plants were many voices trying to get his attention. 

_Sĭlme’Lēar,_ they would call, because that’s what the forest and the plants called him. _Come and rest beneath my leaves! They are large and will shield you from spiders and rain._

 _Sĭlme’Lēar,_ another would interrupt. _I have a flower for you. You can eat it!_

Bilbo was not sure why they would want him to eat them, and so it made him uneasy at first. 

_You are the light of this forest, Sĭlme’Lēar,_ the forest murmured, sounding like one voice with many opinions instead of many voices now that he’d learned how to listen to them. _Plants grow by stretching towards the light. The ultimate form of light is you,_ _Faërie of Eryn Lasgalen._

 _Lasgalen?_ Bilbo would ask. _Is that what this place is?_

_That is what the Elves that live here call it, yes, yes it is._

Bilbo had not known there were others near. _Why haven’t they found me? I’ve been here for so long!_

_Because we protect what is ours, and we have decided that you are ours._

_Is that why you will not show me the way out of this forest?_

The only response was the burst of happiness from the forest. Bilbo did not want to ask when they would let him leave because he was afraid of making them mad. 

_I cannot stay forever,_ he said hesitantly, a few years later. His body had grown and had taken the form of a young adolescent.

 _Of course, you can stay forever,_ the forest and plants responded. _Because we will not let you leave!_

It sounded as though they were trying to comfort him, but Bilbo did not feel comforted. In fact, his heartfelt ill at ease.

 _I am a hobbit,_ he explained. _Hobbits do not live for more than a hundred years._

The forest had been deathly silent for a few minutes once he stopped speaking. He would remember those minutes fondly for his foreseeable future even if they had terrified him in the moment because the noise and uproar the forest made over the news would not stop anytime soon. 

_You are starlight! You cannot die!_

Bilbo did not know whether that was true or not.

_You must stay with us!_

_You cannot leave!_

_You are Silme’Lear, Alda Mellon!_

_No, no! You cannot leave._

_Do not worry. We will never let that happen._

_Stay!_

_Stay!_

_Stay!_

_Stay!_

_Stay!_

_Stay!_

_Stay!_

_Stay!_

_You will stay with us forever._

Bilbo felt like he was going insane.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave kudos and comment below!


	5. I Shall Evermore Live Under This Dome of Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to get out! Enjoy!

Years passed, and Bilbo began to understand why the Men had brought him across Arda to this forest. It was sick. So sick. Half of him wondered if they’d left him here to die, while the other half hoped it had been because they’d thought he could cure the forest. 

As time passed, he pondered on it. Time was a fickle thing in this forest. The trees spoke to him, of course, but the longer he was with them, the more possessive they became. The golden dome that he once felt protected him had become little more than a gilded cage. The forest called to him; guarded him like a jealous child would a toy. 

What once had been comforting had become concerning. He had become a prisoner in his new home. Winter never seemed to touch the forest. Nor spring or summer. The only representation of the passing of time was his ever-increasing height as he grew. One year, he stopped growing altogether. Was he an adult now? 

What about Bag End? What had happened to it? What of the garden and the people he thought had loved him? He didn’t remember much about the Shire or his parents now. Memories had been replaced with bitterness and betrayal. But he did remember something she had said to him once. 

_“Bilbo, my dear,”_ she’d said as they cuddled by the fire. _“Love is unconditional. You don’t have to try so hard to be something you’re not. The people who truly love you will stay by your side no matter what.”_

Bilbo couldn’t understand why his mother had _lied_ to him like that. Love was nothing if not conditional. Familial love especially so. And because Bilbo didn’t fit in the box they’d built for him, they’d stopped loving him and sent him off to either die alone or live alone. No, Bilbo had grown. He was older now. And he didn’t believe in such fairytales. There was no such thing as unconditional love. 

Food was often scarce, and he had learned that hunger was unavoidable. It gnawed at him and refused to release him from its clutches. How different would things be if he could only find the elves? They would help him, right? His mother had always told him stories about the elves. Good elves. Kind elves. They would help him, right? 

But there was no way for him to get to them. The forest was tricky. It entered your mind like a ghost and muddled things. Bilbo would walk for hours only to return to where he started: the Heart of the Forest. 

The Heart of the Forest had become his home. A home that the forest always ensured he returned to. It was a spring that flowed out of a cliffside and down into a pool that turned into a stream. It was the only clean water Bilbo had access to. So he drank from the waterfall and bathed in the small pool at its base. 

Bilbo lost track as the years went by. His mind was so addled by the forest. He forgot what it was like to hold conversations with other people. The trees would speak _at_ him but they never spoke with him anymore. They only ever repeated the same things. 

He was theirs. 

He couldn’t leave. 

They’d protect him. 

He’d be happy here with them.

They wouldn’t let him go. 

Bilbo missed green so badly. He would do anything if he could just see green again. His pants used to be green. Now they were a muddied yellowish-brown sort of colour, not completely unlike the canopy of leaves above him. 

He hated gold.

His body had changed as well. He’d grown taller, though not by much. He didn’t have enough food to sustain that sort of growth. He also became slimmer. Slim as a sapling. His hair grew and there was nothing he could do about it. It was a wild curly mess that he often spent time combing through. 

As much as he would have hated to eat meat from one of the sick forest animals, he was often so hungry that he wondered what would happen if he were to eat one raw. He had no knife to butcher meat even if he’d known how to do so, and the trees would not allow him to start a fire. He only ever ate what the forest gifted him.

Bilbo was so hungry. 

And angry. 

He was angry too. 

He was angry at the hobbits that had exiled him to this sick forest. 

He was angry at the Men that had abandoned him with nothing but a small pack of clothing and food.

He was angry at himself for losing the pack of supplies when he barely escaped his first encounter with the spiders. 

But most of all, he was angry with his parents. 

They were gone, and he was alone. Forevermore, he would live under this golden dome. 

Madness itched inside of his mind. A constant reminder that it had barged in without him realizing it. Something needed to change. And then something did. Somewhere along the line, Bilbo got in the habit of singing while he bathed in the pool. 

_‘Left behind, I have no home._

_No name to call mine,_

_Or etch on my tome._

_Taken here by hands I knew,_

_I was left to die:_

_A memory gone-by.’_

Bilbo had gone to sleep that night, tears streaming down his face and landing on the root he’d curled up against. When he awoke, he awoke to the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

_Green._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, will be Legolas' POV.


	6. Evermore to Their Arms I Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas discovers new growth in the forest. Thranduil knows what that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much for all your positive feedback! I'm so glad you're enjoying it. I hope you continue to do so. Cheers!

Legolas was exhilarated as he flew through the trees, much less cautious than he had ever been when venturing out on patrols. He and his warriors had been sent out to survey the river and check its condition, as they did semi-annually. It was one of the few trips anyone was allowed to make out of the Lasgalen. But this, this might change that. 

He never noticed how heavy his body felt until he’d stepped beyond the treeline onto soft, green, luscious grass. His mind had cleared, like he had been trapped in a cloud of anger and confusion, leaving behind only wonder and serenity. The air had been clean, and they’d even discovered a sapling, murmuring softly to them. 

_Hello, hello, hello!_ It had cried with joy. _I am here! I am new life! I am growing!_

Legolas had kneeled beside it as they took part in rejoicing with it. Perhaps the trees would speak to them once again! Perhaps the elves of Eryn Lasgalen would finally return to their sturdy arms and dwell in their abundant branches once more! They gifted it with a gentle song to promote its growth and increase its strength. New life! The possibilities of that were endless. If new life was in the forest, would that mean the unions between their people would bear fruit again? Did this mean the forest was recovering? 

When Legolas had asked if he may take one of its leaves to bring as proof to his father that the sapling existed, it had gladly agreed. To Legolas, it seemed like it was preening a bit at the thought of showing it’s showy colour off.

When they had forced themselves to leave the green haven, the pressure was back. Legolas had nearly stumbled under the weight of it. How had they never noticed how heavy the air was? How had they ignored the bitter acrid scent or the way the earth seemed to want to suck them down into it? 

The gates of Lasgalen were in view but Legolas was not met with a sense of homecoming. In its place was a fierce longing to see the green again. To go back. Perhaps his father would come with him. He had seemed ill of late. Not in body, but in spirit. It had been difficult to convince him to allow Legolas out of his sight much less out of the city. 

They were greeted with the traditional gesture as the gates opened for them and quickly shut behind them without a sound. Legolas found himself running, his warriors were close on his heel, Tauriel especially seemed to be bright-eyed at the prospect of what they had found. Her eyes had never looked so green. 

“Ada!” he cried, bursting into the throne room. 

Thranduil, who had been reclining on his throne surrounded by scrolls looked up. His face showed surprise. Legolas had not called him that since he was young because as the forest grew darker, so then had their relationship. Ada had become Father. But Legolas did not feel like the adult of his kind weighed down by the world at the moment. He felt like an elfling excited to tell their parents something about their latest adventure. Legolas knew he must be grinning ear to ear. 

He held up the leaf triumphantly. “A sapling,” he announced, slightly breathless. “We found a sapling growing in soft green grass by the river. It spoke to us and urged us to bring this back to our people as proof!”

Thranduil was up from his throne in a movement so quick it was almost jarring to watch. When he stepped close, Legolas parted with the leaf reluctantly. But instead of taking it from him, his father simply held it cupped in both their hands between their bodies, marvelling at its colour. When had the last time been that they had seen a colour so bright? 

“Tell me, _ion nin_ , where exactly did you find this?” he murmured, piercing eyes running over it before settling on Legolas’. 

“A few miles north, near where we used to gather Arlemna fruit,” he replied. 

His father looked back down at the leaf they still held together, cradling it as though it were the most precious of things. “Ready Ceros. Make sure he is saddled for a long ride.”

“Father?” Legolas raised his brows. He had not expected him to respond so quickly to the news. “You are as impatient as I, then?” he queried, hopefully. 

“Time is of the essence,” Thranduil corrected. “It has nothing to do with impatience.”

Legolas did not bother responding, but his cheek did twitch in slight amusement. His father _was_ impatient.

“My King, may I ask what you plan to accomplish?” Tauriel asked, tactfully. 

Thranduil held the leave up for the entire room to see. “The forest does not wake on its own.”

Legolas’ heart stopped beating for a moment as he realized what his father was saying. His father was speaking of Faëries. Was there was hope for Mirkwood once more? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love to hear from you guys so let me know what you think of this story so far! Also, don't forget to subscribe, bookmark, and leave kudos if you want to see more!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	7. I Suppose I Left the World to Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The elves journey north is made difficult by the forest spirits, so they stop to reconnect and rest for the night. However, tree spirits aren't the only presence to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Back with another short chapter! Thank you to all of my new subscribers. I am so glad you're enjoying what I've written so far. I am hereby dubbing this my 'Procrastination Fic'. What better way to procrastinate then make MORE work for yourself?

Ceros’ hooves beat a steady rhythm as Thranduil lead their party of warriors through the woods. The forest was fighting them at every chance. It was strong. Every landmark they passed seemed to try and meld in with its surroundings, as though willing the elves not to see them. The forest has been so silent for so long. This journey was no different. It wasn’t speaking to them. They spoke amongst themselves, desperately fighting against Thranduil and his warriors' advances. But they were powerful as a unit, and the trees had no chance to ward them off. 

How long had his forest been thus weakened? Sick, yes, corrupted, yes, but weak? What was causing this? Perhaps they had stayed inside their walls for too long. The Woodland King could only hope it wasn’t too late. There was still hope. If the Valar had seen fit to gift his line with a Faërie, then there could be nothing but hope. 

They followed the river bank north, heading for the heart of the forest. Legolas and Tauriel pointed out the green sapling they’d greeted earlier that day, and Thranduil’s heart started beating harder at the sight. Green. Green things in Eryn Lasgalen! They were forced to stop for the night. The farther they got, the less hostile the trees became. While neither Thranduil nor any in his party were spoken to directly, the trees were no longer attempting to cause them direct harm.

“Can you feel it, father?” Legolas murmured, peering around the darkening glade at the ancient trees. “They are arguing. There is unrest amongst the Galadrim.”

Thranduil dismounted, not bothering to check to see if the rest of the part did the same. The Galadrim were to be respected. Collectively, they created the Collective Spirit.

“We commune with the forest. Rest if you must.” the King announced, placing his sword pointing north in the case that the Galadrim managed to their minds. They did not want to find themselves riding south again. The sun was lost to them while they journeyed through the thick canopy. There would be no way to tell. 

“Yes, my King.” the warriors responded. Thranduil did not wait to watch as they lowed themselves off their steeds.

Legolas sat at his right, and Tauriel next to him. Most of the elves fell into kneeling positions so they sat in a circle while the others stood guard against the Ungoliants. Thranduil closed his eyes and leaned forwards, sinking his fingers into the dirt. It was muddy and slick. His poor forest had been so neglected, and he had none to blame but himself. 

He opened himself up to the earth, feeling his soul brushing over plants, dead and alive, touching nature at its core and offering everything to it in return. The Galadrim focused on him. _Hello, old friends,_ he greeted them. _It has been quite some time._

They were slow to approach. A brush against his consciousness here, a hum to test his attention there. Their voices were muted and mottled at first. He could not hear them clearly enough to know of what they spoke but knew enough that they were not speaking to him. 

Thranduil did not try to force their reconnection. He knew that he had left this world to fend for itself in order to protect his people. He could feel the Collective Spirit assessing him, staring at him, and not liking what they saw. His heart fell a bit, but he drew that part of himself back and remained open. 

That’s when it happened. Another presence dawned on the horizon like a fiery sunrise. It was magnificent. It wasn’t anywhere near where Thranduil knelt. But he could feel the lightness as it danced about the forest spirits. The grumbling stopped and the forest seemed to hone in its attention on that presence. With the trees distracted, Thranduil brushed against that presence, drawing back quickly as it seemed to whipped around, confused. 

_You are not one of my trees,_ it said, clear as day. _You feel like silvery moonlight,_ it sighed, wistfully.

_I am flattered, young sapling,_ Thranduil replied, in awe of the lightness in his body as the presence wrapped around his, seeming to explore him with childlike excitement. The Woodland King laughed lightly. 

_What is that?_ It wondered, delighted, as it caught onto his son’s presence, who had been observing with the rest of the party as the King reconnected. _Is this starlight? What else could it be?_

Thranduil sensed Legolas’ surprise and awed acceptance as the presence explored him too, weaving in and out and dancing around. 

_What is this place?_ It wondered before Thranduil could answer his previous question. _There are so many of you!_ It cheered, dancing around them as Thranduil watched for a few minutes. _Where are you? Who are you? I haven’t talked to anyone in so long!_ It returned to him and swirling around him, chittering on about colours. 

He was so distracted by the energetic little spirit that he didn't even notice as the other's disconnected from the earth. This presence was not Galadrim. This presence was something completely different. A powerful spirit to be able to interact so clearly. _I_ _am the_ —

“Ada! Ada, rise!” Legolas pleaded, hands gripping Thranduil's shoulders. “The spirits' anger has been roused! We cannot stay here!”

Eyes snapping open, Thranduil blinked as he took in what he was seeing. Ungoliants. The forest was pushing them back, away from the Heart of the Forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're new here and you like what you see, don't forget to subscribe! I'd also love to hear you you think of it.


	8. There Is Only Death Beneath My Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey through what used to be the Greenwood continues and Legolas acts as the party's eyes and ears using his Sight. But the Galadrim capture him in a vision to show him the horrors they left to happen when Lasgalen closed their gates...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANNOUNCEMENT! I have my own Original Work in progress! I will be posting, much like I do on the Catalyst where I'm working with a schedule. It will be a membership website where I will publish a lot of different books. Many of them will take place in the same universe and have characters you will see in other stories in them! The first 100 people to subscribe will get a discount price of $3/mo. for six months, so don't miss out!
> 
> You can read the first 5 chapters for free! This is the website: [website](https://endersonarms.com)
> 
> Synopsis for original work....
> 
> ae·gis  
> /ˈējis/  
> noun  
> the protection, backing, or support of a particular person or organization.
> 
> Aegis was a slave in all but name. While there was no Bond between him and the royal that his family had given him to, there was still no escaping his duty. From the moment he was born into the world, his fate had been decided by his family elders. He would serve out the punishment for a crime he hadn’t been alive to commit to avoid the King’s wrath on their House. He had thought freedom was forever out of reach. That is, until the King came forward with an offer: Shadow Prince Estevot of the D’ellion Empire in return for his freedom. All he would have to do was give detailed reports to the King and catch Estevot in the act if he was truly planning something. Simple.
> 
> Prince Estevot was not in the Kingdom of Saavin just to be a political bargaining chip to dissuade war between the Empire and the Kingdom. He had ulterior motives. Motives that could get him killed, if he wasn’t cautious. He was prepared for the worst-case scenario. He wasn’t, however, prepared for the soul-deep connection he felt with the young man who served him. Worse yet, he was the aegis of the enemy. His mission had just become much more complicated.
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNINGS: This story depicts emotional abuse and graphic violence between certain characters.**

Legolas parried out of the way just in time. The Ungoliant dropped down from the canopy right where he had stood before. His arrow flew true and the spider fell with a horrible screech. There were so many. He looked around. Was anyone in need of aid?

Tauriel was handling herself well, as were the other warriors. His father...where was his father? A sick feeling sunk into his stomach as he had a terrible suspicion. He was still sitting in the grass, a soft smile on his face, fingers buried in the dirt and dead leaves. And an Ungoliant was taking notice. 

“Ada!” Legolas screamed, notching and arrow and letting it fly. “Ada, rise!”

His father’s eyes opened and the pleasant expression fell from his face as he gathered his bearings. That spirit…it had caught them so off-guard. It was like nothing Legolas had ever seen! No soul he had ever seen had ever been capable of interacting with him save for his father. 

The Elven King still hadn’t moved. 

“The spirits’ anger has been roused! We cannot stay here!” he tried again. 

He drew one of his short swords from his dagger just in time to block the fangs of another spider. How had it gotten so close? Just how many were there? 

“The Galadrim are trying to push us away from the Heart of the Forest, Legolas! The Ungoliants will keep coming. We will get boxed in on all side if we stay here.” His father snatched his sword from the ground and whistled for Ceros. 

The magnificent creature ran through the fray, head down, antlers at the ready to plough through any adversary that would stand between him and his master. 

“Ride north, ride north!” the Elven King cried, swinging onto the back of his steed. “The Faërie is in the Heart of the Forest!”

Legolas’ own horse had been the creature who had died first. Its cries had been what had woken him from reconnecting with the forest and from letting the Faërie explore his soul more. Its death had not been in vain. Legolas would mourn for the creature when they returned, and thank it for its great service to them. It had alerted him and the others and had allowed them to defend his father and their other steeds. With little other choice, he leapt onto Ceros’ back, standing on his haunches behind his father, an arrow notched and keen eyes on the track ahead. 

“We have at least a days ride until we reach it,” his father murmured. “Stay alert, but do not tire yourself.”

“As you say,” he agreed easily, though he knew he could not let his guard down. 

This was bigger than either of them. A Faërie meant new life in the forest once more. A Faërie meant fertility would return to their race and elflings would roam the woods again just as Legolas had thousands of years ago. A Faërie meant hope and healing. Legolas’ life was certainly not worth more than all that. if he had no choice but to lay it down in defence of his father so he could find the Faërie, then Legolas would willingly do so. 

Death and carnage scattered their path as they raced through the forest. Legolas watched as one of their warriors fell to an Ungoliant, and his body dragged away by the creature that had felled him. His jaw hurt from gritting his teeth together, and his eyes were strained from intense concentration. 

“Four coming from the north west, two from the north east,” he called. “They mean to cut us off.”

“The forest is leading them to us,” his father growled. “How far it has fallen. How the wise have become quick to shed blood!” he yelled into the forest and for just a moment, Legolas could see the careful magic that kept his face from showing the horrible melted flesh fade. 

“Why would they do that? Surely a Faërie is a treasure, even to a corrupted forest and they cannot survive alone!”

“Can you feel it, son? The possession…” his word trailed off as they darted around the ruins of a settlement that had been prospering long ago.

Legolas could see a basket that looked as though it had been dropped in haste. A staff there. The remains of clothing hung, tattered, but still hanging on the line from long ago. Dilapidated houses with doors that looked like the mouths of nazgul, stretched wide into long, somehow grotesque shapes beckoned them as if to say, ‘I was a home once. Come inside.’ 

What would he find if he did? And then there were the bodies. Or at least, the remnants of them. Bones that had been picked clean and bits and pieces of skeletons from those that had passed long ago. The stillness in this place was a terrible thing. The voices of the trees called to him, beseeching him, crying out for him, and finally, yelling at him. 

His eyes were dragged into memories of the past when the square they were riding through had been a market and children had laughed as they chased each other through the plaza while their elders looked on them with fondness. Brightly coloured craftsman stalls lined the area, and a woman played a harp from where she sat in a window seat and smiled at the elflings below. 

It was a charming image. So full of life and movement and joy that when it shifted from the vision back to the grey desolate scene before him, he felt as though he had lost his sight altogether. How had the red and yellow and green tents turned to grey? His head swam as the scene changed back to that of bright colours, green leaves, and clear blue skies. 

He would have felt comforted if he hadn’t known what was coming. Orcs and Ungoliants poured into the settlement from every side. Chaos erupted. There were screams and cries for help. Help came but it was no use. Elves fell. _Children fell._ All was lost. 

_You did this._

_You left the world to burn._

_Did you think we would let you do the same to our Faërie?_

_Where we were green we are now grey._

_Where we were bright we are now dark._

_All because you did not help._

Legolas felt like his soul was being pulled in every possible direction at once, yanked this way and that. He cried out in pain, protesting their words, though he knew he held some fault in this. They should not have retreated into their walls. This settlement had been only one of many that had refused to seclude themselves inside. Would things have been different if Lasgalen had not closed its borders? Or would this have happened to his home too? It had happened to Dol Guldur long ago. And it had been a high esteemed city filled with the best they had to offer. 

Was there any hope? Or was this a fool’s errand that would only get them all killed? Perhaps this was futile from the start. Legolas’ heart sank, and the hope that had budded inside him withered.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha...hello...soooooo.....I've been procrastinating. Do you want to know how hard I've been procrastinating? I am currently working on setting the song Bilbo sand in Chapter 5 to music. It's a guitar, my voice, and maybe a violin. I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO PLAY THE GUITAR. 
> 
> Leave it to me to be super inspired for the things I don't even need to work on. I have four projects to chose from, ([THE CATALYST](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21355075/chapters/50865256L), [Left Behind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524392/chapters/57206530), Music of Mirkwood, and my original work, [AEGIS](https://endersonarms.com/home/register/)) aND I CHOSE TO WRITE AN OBSCURE SONG WITH TWO VERSES THAT I WROTE FOR A FAN FICTION THAT ISN'T EVEN MY MAIN FANFICTION AND THAT HASN'T EVEN BEEN READ BY A LOT OF PEOPLE. Also, Bilbo has a guy's voice and I do not. So if I end up sharing, you'll just have to put up with that little bit XD
> 
> Edit: I wrote this about three weeks ago in preparation for publishing this chapter. Life got in the way, sorry!!


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